hop on, dear.

twenty three

[a week later]

the girl feels as if her heart

is almost used to beating faster

at 7.55am every morning.

it's almost become muscle-memory

to t e a r her gaze away

from the dewdrop-dotted window;

despite the boy never returning her smile

her heart still warms at the sight of him.

and although she misses the sound of his voice

and longs to feel his hand on hers;

she's almost content

for now.